


What Comes Before A Fall

by newpolicy



Category: Bridgerton Series - Julia Quinn
Genre: AU, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, SO MUCH FLUFF, What-If, alternative ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-18 04:26:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28986330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/newpolicy/pseuds/newpolicy
Summary: 1x04 AU - what if Daphne had actually been injured in the mêlée of Anthony and Simon's duel?Short, sickly sweet and oh-so fluffy.
Relationships: Daphne Bridgerton/Simon Basset
Comments: 13
Kudos: 245





	What Comes Before A Fall

**Author's Note:**

> Why hello there - please excuse this ridiculous farce of a drabble but I felt like indulging in a little bit of good old fashioned fluff, and Simon and Daphne fit the bill just wonderfully. 
> 
> Woefully unedited but I may come and patch it up at some point.

_Dear Reader,_

_A delectably scandalous tale has reached my ears, one featuring both an infamous set of friends, and a duel at dawn. I would wager no hints necessary as to the general subject matter of this early morning meeting between the Duke of Hastings and his dear friend the Viscount, given the Duke’s entanglement with a certain diamond over the last number of weeks, however the specifics are yet to reach my ears._

_The sight of a doctor hastily mounting the steps of the Bridgerton residence shortly after the extinguishment of the street lamps may yet be cause for concern. No doubt the next soiree of the season will prove interesting indeed in trying to puzzle out this mystery._

_Lady Whistledown._

* * *

The first thing she became aware of was a series of dull throbs dotted around her body, which seemed to increase in intensity the more accustomed her brain became to being once more in the land of the living. It would probably have taken less time for her to list the parts of her anatomy which did _not_ seem to be in pain, causing her brow to furrow in momentary confusion as she slowly began to knit together the events which had led to her lying in such a state in the first place.

Her fingers curled inwards to brush against the welt left across her palm, evidence of her desperate attempt to steady her horse. The startled scream of the poor animal following the gunshot had cut across the morning air, ringing in her ears as she tumbled to the ground.

She faintly recalled someone shouting her name.

It took more effort to open her eyes than she was accustomed to, both lids seemingly requiring her express attention before they begrudgingly began to move. A stream of late evening sun filtered through the lace curtains adorning the windows, long shadows cutting across the otherwise golden hue. It took a moment for her to compute the figure occupying the doorframe which led to her dressing room.

“Benedict…?” she guessed, her eyebrows once again pulling together as she tried to identify the man – for it was certainly a man, however it was too tall to be Anthony or Colin, at least of that she was sure. 

“Not quite, Ms Bridgerton.”

Daphne’s eyes widened as Simon Bassett stepped cautiously into the room, her jaw slackening into an almost gawp which likely would have caused him to laugh, had he been even remotely in the humour to. She could tell by the grim set of his mouth that he decidedly was not. She began to try to struggle to sit up from the myriad of pillows which had been placed behind her, her ribs screaming in protest at even the slightest movement.

“Don’t – stay where you are,” he commanded, his steps quickening as his hand shot out, almost as if to push her forcibly back down before he caught himself. “Ms Bridgerton-”

“I hardly think the formality is necessary, Simon,” she remarked through clenched teeth, before wordlessly acceding to his request by allowing her body to slump back once more. The tense line of his shoulders released somewhat, his hand coming to rest on the ornate end of her bed.

They regarded each other in silence for a moment. The dark circles bruising under his eyes, and the wrinkled clothes he still wore from the night before were the only signs visible on his form of what had transpired. Daphne winced inwardly, loath to think what on earth she herself resembled given the circumstances, however she did her level best to appear as composed as one could, in one’s nightgown.

There was a small part of Daphne that strongly disliked the Duke, if only for how completely unflappable he seemed to be. He had utterly decimated her carefully constructed composure over the course of a mere few weeks of a fake courtship, whereas he appeared completely unchanged, and unaffected by it all.

Her pride – or perhaps more aptly her _vanity_ – had been sorely wounded by his rejection. The problem ran deeper than just him not wanting her. She was not at all ashamed to admit that she was aware of her own beauty, her general allure to the opposite sex. However it was not the case that she expected every man to fall in love with her. She just hadn’t accounted for the possibility that when she finally did find the one she truly cared for, that he wouldn’t feel the same.

It was that he could still reject her, even knowing that she cared for him, that she _needed_ him. It was that he could leave her at the mercy of the unforgiving ton, knowing that he had the ability to rescue her from their condemnation.

It was that marriage to her was such an awful prospect for him, he would rather see her ruined than endure it.

The heavy silence between them began to grow oppressive, causing her to begin to twitch uncomfortably under his gaze. Taking a breath, she did her best to recall the easy banter with which they had regularly conversed before.

“I was always under the impression that for two men to duel, it was required for them _both_ to point their guns at the other,” her voice was innocent, the small quirk of her mouth the only tell she gave that she intended to tease.

She watched his shoulders visibly sag, in what she wanted to believe was relief. His mouth twitched at her words, his eyes softening at the edges in a way that had become uncomfortably familiar to her throughout the course of their ‘ruse’.

“Have you attended many?”

“Only those held in my honour.”

“Ah – many indeed then.” He nodded, the corners of his mouth twitching.

“Perhaps more than you think,” she replied archly, causing a smile to slowly spread across his lips.

He shook his head with a little laugh “It is good to see that your wit was not lost in the fall.”

“No doubt I would have sent you out to retrieve it from that field if it had been.”

There was a forced lightness to their conversation, a cautious quality to both their words that neither was used to. This polite version of Simon was not familiar to her, this dancing around the metaphorical elephant in the room most unlike him, where he usually charged directly into the face of difficulty and awkwardness.

“I’m surprised you are here,” she said eventually, her eyes following her fingers as they traced the intricate stitching of the blanket, not quite brave enough to meet his eyes.

“In your bedroom?” he asked, still gallantly trying to retain the light cordiality they had slipped into.

“Well yes –“ she began, before taking a breath “However, more so here at all.”

Her eyes flickered up to meet his, her eyebrows pinching together slightly to create the small indent. Her expression became one he knew well, synonymous with confusion.

“Ah-“ he nodded, breaking her gaze to direct his own to the floor. “The answer to the second is the same as to the first – I… have reached an agreement with your brothers.”

“An agreement?”

“We – are to be married, Daphne,” he said, clearing his throat.

“Oh-” she said lightly, leaning back further into the pillow supporting her shoulders.

“Yes.” He cleared his throat again, showing uncharacteristic discomfort as he shifted slightly on the spot.

“So-” she began, her mouth moving akin to a fish as she tried to formulate a response reflective of the thousand thoughts running riot around her mind. “What has changed – why now have you agreed, where not a day ago the thought of duelling a friend was to be preferred?”

“You – cannot understand, Daphne.”

She laughed without humour, shaking her head “You’re right – I cannot. And I will not unless you at least attempt to explain it to me-”

“Now is not the time to discuss this,” he said with finality.

“Oh I think this is the perfect time-“

“You are injured, and I should not vex you,” he cut across her, his tone infuriatingly placating, as if she were a child.

“Then answer me!” She demanded, once again moving to try and sit up, eliciting a pained hiss from between her clenched teeth.

“For God sake Daphne, stay where you are-“ he thundered, his hand shooting out to push back her shoulder before he caught himself.

“Either answer me or _get out_ -“

His mouth opened briefly, before clenching shut once more, the muscles in his jaw jumping in frustration.

“Simon-“

“You could have died.”

“So, you have agreed to marry me because I fell from my horse-“

“It was not just a _fall_ , Daphne. You didn’t see.”

“Well unfortunately, as you see, I am almost certain to make a full recovery nevertheless. So, if you made such a promise to my brothers in the hopes that this mess might resolve itself through my demise, you are to be sorely disappointed,” she said, her voice cutting with acridity.

“That you could even suggest such a thing of me.” His face read plain fury, mixed with what might have been hurt.

“Are you surprised? You, and you alone had the power to save me from ruin and you refused. Refused, even while knowing that it pained me in more ways than just simply with regards to my reputation. So forgive me for not thinking, and expecting the best of you, anymore.”

“You do not understand.”

“You have already said that.”

“ _No_.” His hand cut through the air “You do not understand. You – you could have _died_ , Daphne. I watched you – I watched you fall from that horse, not knowing whether you were injured, or _dead_ or –“

“And how do you think it felt? Not knowing whether I was going to lose a brother, or – or you. Those weren’t props, Simon. They were _guns_.”

“And you rode into the middle of it all! And I had to _watch_ you. I had to watch you, and know that if I lost you, that it was entirely _my_ fault.” His voice broke, an embarrassed flush spreading rapidly across his cheeks. He cleared his throat without success, the noise filling the room.

Daphne took a breath, studying him for a moment.

Whenever she had imagined love when she was younger, it had always seemed a relatively simplistic concept. Merely a matter of two people coming together, and living out their lives in a haze of contented matrimony. That love could involve such tumult, such uncertainty had never occurred to her. She knew she loved him, but she had no idea whether he truly reciprocated, or whether this all was the result of guilt, or his will finally bending to meet the expectations of his oldest friend.

She had to choose to trust him, despite the past and all she knew. And it felt so foolish to even contemplate doing so, but she couldn’t resist the glimmer of hope his being here had given her.

“Come – come here,” she tried gently, reaching out her hand for him to approach. She watched him hesitate a moment, holding her breath without realising she even did so, waiting for him to deliberate.

It was with part-reluctance, part-relief that he neared the bed, his eyes tightening at the corners at the fresh details of her injuries that were revealed.

“Good.” She nodded once, reaching and taking his hand when he drew close enough to tug him gently “Now sit.”

He opened his mouth to protest, but thought better of it at the sight of her arched eyebrow. Sighing softly, he gingerly sat on the edge of the bed, rolling his eyes slightly at the triumphant smirk that unfurled slowly across her lips.

“Very good.” She patted his hand.

He mumbled under his breath, her ears only catching “patronising” as he linked their fingers together. 

They resided in the silence that followed without interruption for a few moments, a gentle acceptance passing between them, the outside world and all its considerations and challenges feeling a million miles removed.

Daphne spoke first, her thumb tracing gentle circles on the edge of his hand, the skin surprisingly rough for a gentleman of leisure. “Shall I be required to take a tumble from a horse every time you are behaving completely unreasonably, then?” she asked, all innocence, save for the tilt of the corner of her mouth.

“You are decidedly unfunny,” he muttered, pressing a kiss to the inside of her wrist before moving to hold her hand against his face.

“In earnest,” she insisted “I think it a fair question.” A traitorous blush worked its way across her cheeks at his actions. She had thought his indifference would bring about her demise, but she could see now that interactions with a Simon Basset who had seemingly decided to give up the fight were an entirely new being altogether.

“I should like to think a simple discussion will suffice.” He shrugged “With some practice, of course.”

“Oh dear, how boring.”

“My apologies, Daphne.” The joking tone left his voice, his hand holding hers tighter “I am sorry, truly.”

“Well, I certainly won’t mind you trying to earn my forgiveness,” she teased, the look in her eyes was the only proof required that he already had it.

“Tell me, should I begin holding my breath and wait for you to apologise for almost scaring me to death?” he asked, his eyebrow quirking upwards.

“Oh no, now that would be foolish.”

“Almost as foolish as riding straight into the middle of a duel?”

She hummed lightly, laughing a little as her body began to sink further down into the mattress beneath her.

“If this turns out to be a dream, I’ll be decidedly disappointed, Simon,” she mumbled.

“We’ll have to work on making your dreams much more creative.”

“Mmm, perhaps when I wake up.”

The sound of his soft laughter followed her as she drifted off.


End file.
